Confessions of a Father: A Hitman's Story
by Death Jester
Summary: A story set in the Hellsing world. A father tells his history to his children in the form of bedtime stories. As always, Read & Review!


Sparks settle on the Persian carpets and a heavy boot stomps them out as the man moves to a comfortable chair across the fireplace, settling into it with a sigh. Shortly after picking up a book a young boy with dusty blond hair comes running over and without a pause leaps into the man's lap.

"Aren't you supposed to be in bed, Samuel?" An arm goes around the boy as the smaller ones are flung around his neck.

"But you just came home! Please tell me a bedtime story."

"It's too late for you to be awake. Let's head back to bed." Although said with the best intentions it receives a sad whining as the boy is picked up. Footfalls are heavy as they climb the many carpeted stairs to a second floor.

"Please Father? You've been gone for so long." Spoken through a yawn and accompanied by a big stretch he sounds so sad.

"I'll tell you a story tomorrow night." The door creaks on it's hinges as it opens.

"It's not the same." Arms fold across the slender chest as the bottom lip is pushed out as far as it can go.

"Sam.." A heavy sigh as pajama-clad child is set under the blankets and laid back on the pillow.

"Please Daddy?" A smile comes to the adult's lips with those words as he sits down on the bed. His eyes close. "Pleeaaase?"

"Alright. Alright, but a quick one." Samuel vaults from under the covers and wraps around his father again, getting a chuckle and a hug in response. "But you have to stay in bed."

On his own the little one clamors back under the blankets and flops down onto his pillows, a content smile on his lips as he waits and listens.

The man removes his hat with a sigh, runs a hand through his hair and the story is begun.

X

It was a warm spring day in the French countryside, and a young boy played in a grassy courtyard with a dog. He was watched by a middle-aged man under the shade of an old tree. Soon this man was joined by a lovely young woman in green.

She was tall for her age with pale blond hair and blue eyes, a rich deep green dress with a velvet belt of darker green. Her smile was kind but her eyes showed she had been sickly as of late. The woman moved to kiss the graying cheek of her husband.

"You should be inside, my dear." He stood quickly on aging legs to quit the chair for her benefit, but instead she smiled and shook her head.

"I am fine husband. Do not let him stay out too late." A hand moves to her slightly swollen stomach as eyes settle on the distant child.

"Before dusk falls he will be safe inside, this I assure you." A loving smile falls onto chapped lips as a hand of his own moves to cover hers.

Her face lightened as her lips curled for a smile, but that soon faded as her gaze swept past the boy playing. A tree drew her gaze.

This tree was not just any run-of-the-mill poplar or oak. This was an old tree, large and looking for all t he world to be dead. Not a bit of green found anywhere, not even 'round the roots. Grey bark was wrinkled and wretched as it stretched across the twisted trunk and outstretched branches. Like witch's fingers the wood reached towards the sky and surrounding trees, but there was nothing around it. Acid burn grass at the base, earth pulling away from the mazed roots and no trees for feet around its branches. In fact the other trees seemed to curl away from the woeful sight.

A shiver crawled up her spine as her gaze became captured, thoughts fully entwined by the ghastly creation. She paid no mind as her husband moved his hand from her belly to her shoulder, a soft shake given in attempt to draw her back to her senses.

"Elizabeth?" The husband gives another shake, the boy stopping in his play to look at them.

A wind bustles the tree leaves, the branches of the old tree being moved as if fingers casting a spell, reaching for them. Before the air becomes still again something odd surrounds the little courtyard.

"Do you hear that? She's calling..." Elizabeth's eyes settled on half-closed as a hand reaches out.

"Who dear? Who is calling?" Reaching for her hand he shrieked her name as the woman collapsed to the ground before he could grab hold.

So upon the grass she laid as both boy and servants rushed to her side, form motionless only drawing shallow breaths.

X

The carpet was nearly worn through from a week of his pacing. Save the man's footfalls not a sound came from the drafty castle.

The animals were still, the children silent and the servants working sadly as they all knew she had been bad over the winter. Elizabeth was rumored dead already.

Yet still he paced outside her chamber door awaiting word from the healer who had been far too long already. No word for an hour or more, but a moment felt as a day to him. How long it truly was meant little, as anytime her health failed, even for a day, was not acceptable.

The door opened at last, the healer removing himself and closing it afterwards with a sad shake of his head.

"Pierre, you cannot mean that!" The other moved to him, grasping the other 'bout the shoulders with shaking hands.

"Albert, I have never seen anything like this before. It is as if God has already taken her soul but left her earthbound form as some punishment to babe and beloved. I can do nothing, I am sorry. Gold help her."

"You must do something. What of the baby?"

"God will take it soon, I should think. Do not worry for it."

"You are a liar! Heathen, leave my home! I will not loose my wife and child because you will do nothing for them!"

"Get a hold of yourself man! I have known you since the death of your last wife. If I could help Elizabeth you know I would." The man with the leather bag shook his head and signed. "I truly hope God spares her, Albert."

"Elizabeth cannot die. I would be lost without her." Albert sank onto a chair, head settling into his hands. Fervor gone and lost, sorrow overcame him as he began to weep.

"Easy friend. Perhaps it is for the best; she has been called back to the flight of angels from whom she was lent. The bag set down, calloused weathered hands rest on silk-clad shoulders in comfort."

"I pray thee God to spare my wife and take the child. Leave my beloved." Spoken through tears it was barely understood.

A small voice managed to reach his ears. "Father?"

"Yes son?" He said without raising his head.

"Is mother going to get better?" The little hands take his wrinkled ones.

"I don't know, Alexander." He pulled the boy close as the young one began to sniffle.

"I will send a messenger," the healer offered softly, "to Paris for a colleague of mine. He has traveled far and mayhaps he has seen this before."

"Please... please do whatever you must. I will pay every coin to have her well."

"I will send one right away." And so the healer lifted his bag once more and moved to the door at the end of the corridor, disappearing as it closed.

"Paige," the old man held his son close as the teenage boy came, "send for Father Gerome immediately. Have him meet me in the sitting room."

Quick footsteps carried the boy away as the little one in his arms looks to his father.

"Mother's got to be alright. She has a guardian angel. Father Gerome said so. He said as long as the angels love her and we pray she will always be alright."  
The old man raised his head to see his son and a sad smile came to his lips.

"I know son, but angels get busy too." The dusty blond hair was stroked gently before his forehead was rested against it.

Soon the healer came back and moved to the pair, a hand resting on each shoulder.

"You two go get some rest. I will stay with Elizabeth."

"Thank you Pierre. To bed, Alex." The man picked up his boy and moved away from the room as the healer went inside.

No sooner had the boy been put in his bed when the healer came running. He bade the older man come, and hushed voices were heard before rushing footsteps left the hall before the open door.

Seconds later, the wail of agony was heard and it tore the boy from his bed, sending him running to his father.

The man knelt outside his wife's room, his head in his hands, sobbing as the healer stood above him with a lowered head.

"I don't know what to say Albert. I'm... sorry. I only wish I could have done more for her." Even his eyes betrayed a sadness that the young boy had not seen before.

Quietly the nightgown-clad form moved to his father and held him, knowing not what else to do. In return the hold was desperate, a white shoulder soaked with tears of true sorrow.

"I will wait for Father Gerome downstairs." With that said, the healer quit the hall, bag and all, to leave the two alone.

It was only when the crier called two bells that the man come to his senses and dried his tears. Tired eyes lifted to the near-sleeping child he clung to and in return held tight to him.

"My sweet child. You are all I have left. If anything should happen to you, I would not survive."

In the distance of the courtyard a wind moved through the trees. The twisted fingers of the old ghost tree stretched towards the house. As the dead form creaked, a woman's cackle was carried by the wind.


End file.
